


Three Hundred Channels

by MarkDoesStuff



Category: Supernatural, Too Many Cooks (2014 Short)
Genre: M/M, i refuse to apologize for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkDoesStuff/pseuds/MarkDoesStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for longtime friend and Mark Does Stuff supporter szark, inspired by a fic I wrote for Misty wherein Sam and Dean watch Too Many Cooks for the first time. I could not confine this to 500 words because... well, because this had to happen. Sorry (not sorry at all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Hundred Channels

“Now listen very closely,” Gabriel said. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

“And if we don’t?” Sam said, knowing the answer before he even asked the question.

Gabriel grinned. “Then you’ll stay here in TV Land. Forever. Three hundred channels and nothing’s on."

The last thing Sam and Dean saw was Gabriel raise his hand and snap his fingers.

*

Dean heard the funky bassline before Sam did, and he believed for a few minutes that he’d have to eat a gigantic sandwich again. That wasn’t the worst prospect in the world, but the pattern didn’t make sense. Why would Gabriel fling them back into that sitcom world again? They already knew how it operated. 

Sam turned to look at Dean, confusion on his face as they both heard a man singing.

_It takes a lot to make a stew_

which was followed by a woman

_a pinch of salt and laughter, too!_

They were in a set that resembled the set of  _Full House_ , and instinctively, they knew what they had to do. As the show’s theme song arrived at the disgustingly catchy chorus, Dean faced the imaginary camera and smiled, and he knew that his name probably appeared under him. Sam placed his hands on hips and disapprovingly shook his head at Dean. Just like Dean, he could feel in his soul that he was doing exactly what he was supposed to. How did that magic work? he wondered. How could Gabriel stick them in a universe that fucked with their sense of instinct?

“How long do we have to stay in this one?” Dean whispered to Sam as the two of them walked over to the part of the set with the kitchen in it. “I don’t like this feeling like I’m some sort of puppet.” 

Sam picked up a bowl of eggs that were already pre-mixed and began to whisk them with flour that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Inexplicably, Dean had on an apron and a chef’s hat, and he was sticking his finger in a small bowl of frosting. Sam slapped his hand away, and they both turned to the camera to grin goofily. 

“Just go with it for a few more scenes,” Sam whispered when he had the chance. “We’ll find another way out of this nightmare."

“I don’t know how much longer I can last here,” Dean said. “This whole sugary, family goodness is terrifying to me."

“Well, it’s just the theme song, so it has to end soon."

They were back in the living room with a group of strangers who apparently made up their family. They were smiling for the dad’s photo. Who were they supposed to be in this universe? The elder sons? Strange neighbors? As Sam pondered this while standing behind the couch, he glanced around and saw him for the first time.

He was on the stairs, lounging casually, his beard unkempt, his head mostly balding. There were stains on his shirt, and a look of unsettling joy on his face. Sam nearly yelped in surprise because this man fit into this sitcom world even  _less_ than Sam and Dean did. When the camera flashed, Sam was certain his expression was one of fear and confusion. 

He grabbed Dean’s arm and flung him around, much to Dean’s annoyance. “Dean, look –“ he began, but no one was there. 

“Sam? You okay?"

“There was someone else here,” he said. “Some guy on the stairs, and he looked like a goddamn serial killer."

“It was probably Gabriel watching us,” Dean said dismissively. “I mean, can you really say that any of this is  _weird_ or  _out of place_ anymore?"

There was a giant cat puppet, yellowed and fuzzy, playing the piano next to Dean and Sam.

“See what I mean?” Dean said.

There were back in the kitchen again, and despite that they’d spent hours flashing across physical space in this reality, it never felt right to Sam. It was as Sam watched various cooks preparing meals to the show’s theme song – which was on it’s third loop – that he began to consider that there was something  _else_ wrong with all of this. Sure, this whole experience was unnatural, but was this show now  _literally_ about too many cooks? 

“Dean, something’s happening."

Sam looked at Dean, who appeared to be salivating over the steak that one of the cooks was making. Sam backhanded him on the shoulder, and right when Dean turned his attention back to Sam, they were both in business suits. In an office. Dean ran his hands down the lapel. “Not bad,” he said. “I guess we figured that one out too quickly. You think we’ve moved on?"

“No,” Sam said, his brows creased with worry. “No, the theme song is the same, isn’t it?"

_It takes a lot to make a stew_

_Especially when it’s me and you_

_And him, and Steve from corporate, too_

_Too many cooks, it’s true!_

“What the  _fuck_ is going on?” Dean said. A young man carry a stack of manila folders walked straight into Dean, then turned to the imaginary camera and gave it his best, “Whoops, did I do that?” face. Dean, however, was no longer amused. “I’m not picking those up,” he said to the boy.

The intern looked to Dean with a moment of fright. “Don’t disobey your roles here,” he said under his breath. “This place is not what you think it is.” He flashed Dean a smile and then briskly walked out of the hallway.

“What’s  _that_ supposed to mean?” Dean said, shaking his head at Sam. 

They were back in the house.  _How were they back in the house_? Why were there now members of their family they’d never seen before? Dean started to ogle the woman without a top on, but then stopped when he saw that she was… playing charades? With her own family? Sam tried to stop guessing, but he felt an unending pull to do so. What was that cat thing? Why were they taking a photo again? Why were the parents making out with the other couple, and  _why did they have to watch all of this?_

Then Dean saw him on the stairs. He saw  _him_. It was a glimpse, but the smile alone was enough to send chills running down his spine. He was laying on his side, propped up on his elbow, and then the camera flashed, and he was gone, and –

“Did the music finally stop?” Sam blurted out. They were sitting at a dining room table across from one another. Dean nodded his head slowly, his hands on top of the table as if he needed stability. 

“What is this shit, man???"

“I don’t know, I –"

_Too many cooks! Toooo many cooks!_

They lost track of how many times the table turned or how many random people suddenly appeared and disappeared at the table. The song kept repeating, and Sam and Dean kept smiling on cue, and Dean’s jaw started to hurt. He couldn’t keep this up much longer before –

They were outside. Dean exited a police car and looked down in shock at his uniform. “What the –?” 

_It takes a lot to make a stew_

_I couldn’t face these streets without you_

“Dean!” Sam shouted. “What is this??? It doesn’t make sense! Are we on a cop show?"

“I think?” He pointed his weapon at a suspect. “Put your hands up or I’ll shoot!"

“Then why is the music the same?"

Dean fired his weapon at the man in front of him and missed. Without any hesitation, Sam chucked his night stick at the perp, knocking his knees out from under him. As they handcuffed him and pulled off his ski mask, Sam said, “This is like the Trickster flipping channels from  _within_ a TV show."

“I don’t like it,” Dean said. “And I want it to stop."

They lifted the man from the ground and were instantly back at the precinct. The team was patting Sam on the back with appreciation, and Dean gave Sam a look that said, “Oh, you!” It was at that moment that he noticed  _him_ standing behind Sam. 

“Sam, he’s here!” Dean shouted.

Flash. The music changed, and Dean was horrified to see that Sam had become animated.

He was animated, too, and he examined the colorful fatigues he wore.  _I don’t want to be a cartoon_ , he thought. “Sam, we have to get out of here!” 

Sam wasn’t looking at Dean, though. He was staring behind him, and Dean turned just in time to see that same man walking towards him rapidly. 

“Oh, sh –"

*

An eagle. A mansion. A dynasty. 

*

They couldn’t stop him. 

It didn’t matter that they’d seem him before. It didn’t matter that if they turned their heads a certain way, they could see him coming out of the side of their eyes. When he wanted to take a life, he took it. He cut her head off. He sliced him in half. He stabbed him in the back. And every time, Dean and Sam arrived just a few seconds too late. 

They couldn’t stop him, and they couldn’t save anyone.

Sam had always had a bit of a hero complex, as did Dean, but Sam found that he was more interested in the idea of the unscathed: he wanted people to survive without the ramifications of their experiences with the supernatural. He wanted to save a life and be sure that the person could move on and find happiness again. And the more he thought about it, the more he saw endless people slaughtered by  _him_ , the more Sam realized that ultimately, he wanted to escape unscathed. He wanted to one day stop hunting, to return to a world where he could be a lawyer, have a family, go to Disney World in the summers, and argue about petty, non-essential shit.

They couldn’t stop _him_ , and Sam couldn’t stop himself.

*

Dean wanted to stop smiling. Was it time? These little moments never lasted more than a few seconds, and yet he couldn’t move. He began to frantically look about for a sign of  _anything_ that might help him figure out what was going on. Had he figured out the pattern? Was the Trickster changing it on him? 

He saw him reflected in a picture frame. He saw him raise the machete, and Dean broke free of whatever magical hold someone had on him. He started running and his own name – DEAN WINCHESTER, in a yellow, blocky font – followed him. He ran through the backstage area, passing random characters every few feet, all of them motionless. He ran through the sitcom house and into a bedroom, choosing the only place left to hide: the closet.

“I’ve literally become a cliche,” he said to himself as he closed the door to the closet. He didn’t have his gun, he didn’t know where Sam was, and he had no idea how he was ever going to kill this…  _creature_.

The doors swung open. Dean shouted and attempted to rush his attacker, only to tackle empty air and find himself at Castiel’s feet.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said casually. “What are you hiding from?"

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you,” Dean said, pulling Castiel into a hug. “There’s this… this  _man_ , and he’s killing everyone on set, and it doesn’t make sense and –"

“Don’t worry, Dean,” Cas interrupted. “I’ll handle this. Time for me to morph to my final form."

Castiel stood in the middle of the room and began to spin in place. With each revolution, Dean could see Cas begin to grow in size; he could see Castiel’s wings; he could feel his power radiate throughout the room.

And then he burst into a bright light, and Dean saw the man with his hand against the wall, a banishment sigil drawn with the blood of one of his victims, and he turned back and ran into the closet and –

He saw Bobby, knelt down over a corpse, and he heard the  _Law & Order _theme, and then there was a machete in Bobby’s head and he screamed –

He was in the house. There were body parts everywhere, and the man was pulling them out of the oven to an adoring audience, and Dean couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop him at all. 

*

Sam spit a rainbow out of his mouth and killed the guy just as he advanced on Dean. On the whole, it was not one of the weirdest things he’d done.

 


End file.
